An English Assassin In Paris
by bugby
Summary: Monsieur Axel Bontecou is Paris' most famed detective. Never has there been a case that he could not solve. Never has there been a criminal that he could not catch. But when he meets someone that might surpass even his skills - what will become of him?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **The streets are probably wrong, I just took names of Paris' streets and put them together. And if you happen to be French and reading this, I am so sorry I have butchered your language.

Rumours were flying about Paris, spreading the news about the famous English assassin. Not a soul knew what the killer looked like, not even the gossiping noble women. They didn't even know the _gender_! A string of deaths occurred, all royal, and according to the police, there was nothing to go on. No hair left behind, no shoeprints, no bullet to match to a gun, not even any fingerprints carelessly smeared on a vase. It was a mystery that no policeman in Paris could ever hope to solve.

This lead the city's government to call for their best private detective. Monsieur Axel Bontecou. He was _the _detective – there was no other to go to if you wanted something done. He was recognized in all of France, and most of Europe, certainly a renowned name around the continent. Axel was known for his…_unique_ alignment with the side of good, the side of _justice_. Although, some of the times his methods were unpractical, and there was an extensive amount of women that would've loved to get even with him, the Paris Police had no other choice but to recruit the famed inspector.

And there that famed inspector was, leaning on the lamppost on the corner of Boulevard Carnot and Rue Gabriel Lamé and letting the winter's downpour of rain wash over him and soak him to the bone. Axel was silently mulling over what the police chief had told him, allowing the gears of his mind work and turn, willing raw information into an idea, a suspect even.

But, alas, he was distracted. Every other minute or so, his eyes wandered to the opposite side of the street, where a petite woman sat under a covered table. The rain seemed to dodge her, not wanting to wet her at all. Her hands were delicately folded onto her lap, and every so often would glide to the table and pick at a warm croissant. There were people walking by her, for it was a busy sidewalk. The men that strode by would always walk a little slower, lessen their pace, when they noticed the woman's looks. To these men, this woman gave a seductive smile. The men would play it off – of course – they would say to their wives that they smelled the café's pastries, for they knew that their wives would have their heads if they knew what they truly saw. Still, the woman gave them those small, lustful smiles and a meaningful glint of her eye, most likely just to tease. It was obvious she knew exactly how to entice men, and it was working well – even on Monsieur Axel Bontecou.

The inspector shook his head as he attempted to retrieve his mind and wheel it back onto the subject of the case that he had accepted. Axel knew that he was on the side of good, on the law's side, on _morality's _side. And there couldn't have been anyone, _anywhere_, that could make him change. He was a famous man, many thought of him as great and having influence over anyone – but that was not so. He was his own man, a private investigator just for that reason. He would never work with anyone, save his partner, a fellow advocate of the law whose mind was full of medical prowess, a surgeon was he. Axel was usually hired by the rich or the nobles of the country, he was hired for those nasty cases that were best kept as secrets, away from the prying eyes of the Parisian citizens.

Though he tried hard to think of all this information, he still thought of the beautiful woman across the way. Before he knew it, his legs were leading him to the small café, and his lips were curling up into a smirk. "Bonsoir, mademoiselle. Comment-allez vous?"

The girl smiled and looked straight into Axel's eyes. "Oh, you must excuse me, dear sir, but I have not mastered my French…" her voice has a distinct English accent.

The inspector grinned, and noticed the oceanic blue eyes of the woman. Such eyes he had never seen before. "Do not worry, ma Cherie, I can speak English if it is for you."

Instantly the woman raised an eyebrow, "Well, I am guessing you must be an educated man, Monsieur…?"

He bowed and took her closest gloved hand, then planted a kiss on its back. "Monsieur Axel Bontecou, detective."

"My, my, my, I did not know that I was in the presence of such a famous man…" her cheeks showed the faintest signs of a maidenly blush.

Axel chuckled, "Oh, ma Cherie, the fame is nothing! Excuse me, but, what are you called?" he looked up at her from his lowered position, a bemused expression painted over his face.

The girl's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, "You're speaking to Lady Huntington of Windsor."

The inspector stood and gave her a deep nod, "A _lady_? En mon presence? C'est très magnifique! May I have your first name, Lady Huntington?"

"Oh, my dear detective," she said sweetly, "that wouldn't be proper! You've only just met me."

He smiled at her, "I am sorry, you are correct, milady."

Lady Huntington held her umbrella tightly, "I should be on my way now, Monsieur Bontecou. Dark cities aren't suit for young ladies…" She turned away and walked down the cobblestone bath towards Paris' Notre Dame, her Victorian-style dress swishing around. The rouge of the skirt and matching parasol set off her skin tone, making her look vulnerable and at the same time attractive. She stood erect and confident, walking in a slow, but steady gait, most likely headed to the Grand, a large hotel in Paris' center.

The inspector's acidic green eyes followed after her, silently pleading to know more about the Lady Huntington of Windsor.

**xxx**

That evening, another mysterious murder had occurred, different, but a murder nonetheless. The victim had been a proffeseur at _le Universite de Paris_, as well as a famous scientist, specializing in the workings of the human heart and deadly substances. There seemed to be no reason why one would want to kill the man, he had done no wrong to anyone. This confused the detective.

Axel had been standing in Professeur Ansem Ethelstan's room, on top floor of the educator's wing of le Université. When he arrived at the scene of the crime, he instantly ushered the policemen out, urging them to leave things untouched and exit the room, for it was all evidence. The inspector stepped towards the bed, where the body of the professeur was tucked in.

The body was stiff, almost rock hard. Ansem's skin was a dull grey, reminding Axel of the clouds earlier that day. Death was certainly in his cheeks, for no trace of living was left. No pulse. No shaky breaths. Nothing that could signal the man's life.

He lightly touched Ansem's neck, expecting to see any sign of a lethal injection. He found none. Axel spun on his heels and surveyed the room for the umpteenth time, straining to find something that he had not noticed before. Everything looked as it seemed, none of the furniture seemed out of place, no tinkets strewn about – nothing to signify any struggle.

But the window was open, why had he not noticed that prior to inspecting the body? Was it possible that a deadly gas was used?

The detective looked over the room carefully, and this time, he overturned the bedcovers that wrapped the body so comfortably. The corpse didn't look different from any other dead body he had seen, minus the lacerations and burns on the victim's chest – who would have done such a thing? Axel reached for his notepad and pencil, kept so close in his breast pocket. He wrote all that he saw on the carcass, Axel even sketched a small picture quickly.

Once done with his keen observations, Detective Axel stepped towards the late proffeseur's desk. A desk that was coated with loose papers, small notes, and thick books – undoubtedly filled with _more _notes within the margins. Axel allowed his hands to roam through all the items atop the desk, checking for anything that was missing, something that could've been stolen.

Axel spent the remaining hours of daylight carefully reading the late proffeseur's various notes, papers, and speeches – searching for any one clue that might have told him why the famous researcher had been murdered. He rushed through said notes, scanning quickly, but thoroughly, attempting to absorb all information the sheets contained. Most of the writing was in a complicated shorthand – but thankfully one that Axel knew. The papers were filled with information exclusively about the Heart – the light in people, the darkness that everyone had within them (minus a select few), and the balance between good and evil.

_Is this…. Is this information that one would kill over?_

He hadn't even gone through half the notes when the sun began to set and he began to tire. His eyelids seemed harder to open every time that he blinked, his limbs became heavier and increasingly difficult to move, and his head, _oh_, his head how it ached and throbbed as if there was a hammer hitting him head-on.

Silently, the detective gathered his coat and his hat. With an exasperated sigh, he exited the room and nodded at the police chief – signifying that he and his men could now take all the evidence into examination and transport the proffeseur's body, alerting the family and giving him a proper burial.

What the police chief did not know was that Inspector Axel Bontecou had taken the very most important papers of the notes to study them longer, more extensively, and in his own home. Of course, his partner would help him out profusely.

He stepped into the carriage and coughed loudly, letting his driver know that he was ready to return to his comfortable home. Axel settled back and leaned his head against the plush, dark red cushion of the seat and headrest. He sighed and relaxed, allowing the _clackclackclacking_ of the horses' hooves lull him to sleep.

That is, until a small, ladylike cough jolted him awake.

Axel's eyes instantly shot open, his body became suddenly erect, and he was more than aware of his surroundings. His gaze became focused on the seats before him, and there, in front of his eyes, sat a woman in a tight-fitting midnight blue evening gown. Her shoulders were visible and her sleeves stretched down to her wrists. Lace embroidered the collar, adding such beautiful detail to the dress. The corset was obviously tight around her waist, but she smiled either way. The down grew and spread out from her middle, cascading down widely and beautifully, leaving much to wander about her body.

"_Bonsoir,_ Monsieur Bontecou…"

"Lady Huntington?" Axel inquired, slightly confused but certainly glad to see her face.

She let her smile turn into a frown as she reached out her hand to lay it on his own, "How are you tonight, Monsieur? You look overworked…" Her eyes were filled with genuine worry.

"_Oui_, Mademoiselle…"

Lady Huntington moved and sat next to the detective. She placed her hands on his shoulders, beginning to knead her thin fingers into his back, resulting in small moans escaping the inspector's lips, "Lady Huntington… I did not realize that you were skilled with your hands…"

She let out a pealing laugh, "Oh, Monsieur, there are many things that I am skilled in…"

As much as Axel's mind struggled to stop his body from reacting to such small, and most likely _meaningless_ words, it couldn't. He shifted his body and was met with an almost seductive gaze. Her eyelids were half closed, and she smiled, scooting closer to the inspector. She leaned forward, putting her hands onto Axel's chest. Her fingernails dug through his clothes and into his flesh, making the detective groan.

She whispered: "You are so very tense, Inspector…"

A switched had flipped, and everything altered between the two. In less than a fraction of a second, the atmosphere shifted from silent and unbearable to heated and full of desire. With lips against lips, chest against chest, they kissed quietly – only the sounds of the whinnying horses and ruffling clothes could be heard. Axel's hand caressed Lady Huntington's face lovingly while his other arm was wrapped around her small waist.

Though the inspector was impossibly immersed in the kiss between him and Lady Huntington – she was thinking of much different things. Her hand reached towards the folds of her skirt and she pulled out a dagger, golden and bright, with jewels adorning it's hilt.

She swiped it gently across the bare neck before her, especially careful not to slice anything. Lady Huntington held it against the pale throat that trembled to unnoticeably, "Yell, and I'll slit your throat, detective."

Axel inhaled cautiously and gave a slight nod, "You're the assassin then?"

She hissed and pressed the dagger to his skin, "I said no such thing.'

"Then? What's all this for?" He raised an eyebrow.

Her body tilted forward and she planted a kiss on his temple, "You know too much," with that, she began to drag the blade across Axel's pale neck, a thin line of blood seeping out.

"Axel? Est-ce votre voiture?" A voice shouted from out in the street. Neither Lady Huntington nor Inspector Axel noticed the buggy's stop.

She stood and pulled back her dagger, wiping it on a handkerchief that she pulled out of her bosom. Lady Huntington winked, whispered that this wasn't over, and blew a kiss towards Axel, proceeding to rush out of the side of the carriage opposite the shouting. She whistled loudly and off hopped an accomplice from the roof of the small buddy. They held each other's hands tightly as they dashed away into the dark and damp Paris streets.

"Axel?" That same voice called again, closer, and finally the man yelling opened the door, "Axel! Pourquoi n'avez-vous pas – qu'est-il arrive à ton cou? Your neck! Ça saigne! Bleeding!" It was Demyx's screeching voice – his best friend, the American born surgeon. Faster than Axel could blink, Demyx was mending the wound and calling for the butler. "What happened to you, Ax?"

Axel shook his head, had he been…outsmarted? Rendered incapable of lifting a finger? Because of a woman?

**xxx;;**

So. Another fic, when I haven't even updated the other ones.

Don't kill me. IT'S THE PLOT BUNNIES I SWEAR.

I _am _almost done with the next chapter for both of the other fics –

I just had to post this one already.

**Review**? That makes me update much faster.

Loveyouguys.

p.s. this _is_ an akuroku fanfic.


	2. Chapter 2

It was relatively simple to find an idiot who thought himself wise and make him out to be a fool. Not to others, of course not, but to himself. In private. It would eat at him, he'd doubt. And doubt, plainly, leads to mistakes. Mistakes that will cost people their wellbeing, their fortunes, and even their lives.

Transforming into the Lady Celeste Huntington of Windsor was even easier. The orphaned noble, studying in Paris, had almost never been seen in pubic. She was always sent away for her studies. Upon returning to England, she was kidnapped by two very talented individuals and taken to a seemingly abandoned building belonging to the Wanderers, a band of street children that vowed to stay together and stay alive. Within a few minutes of preparing, Roxas Miller stepped out of the warehouse, dressed as Lady Celeste, followed by his best friend Xion Grey in the guise of Lady Celeste's newly hired servant.

The tricking of the noble families of England had been a breeze for one such as Roxas, who had been playing the part of vulnerable child for as long as he could remember. Amazingly, he acted as an aristocratic woman would. Superbly polite, impossibly dainty, gifted with dance, and skilled in French (which was where he and the Wanderers had been living for two years.) He had tricked the royal families, wrapping them tightly around his thin finger. Roxas had been so charming and yet so bold, no one had even suspected that this wasn't the true Celeste. No one suspected that the true Celeste had been in shipped off to Amsterdam, drugged and confused.

Roxas had insisted that he had to continue his education in Paris, "Oh, Aunt, you don't understand! I miss it so! The city has grown on me."

Celeste's aunt smiled sweetly, "The tickets have been bought already, my darling," this aunt was very affectionate, for she had no children of her own. "Your servant is going with you as well, correct?"

"Yes, of course. She is a very dear friend to me." Roxas nodded.

Within a week, he and Xion had boarded a ship and returned to Paris. They didn't know how they were to go about their plan, or how they were to get back to the Wanderers, they just knew that something had to be done. Things were going to change for them, change completely.

The Wanderers were made up of five children. _Roxas_, the eldest, was eighteen. He had been a child of the streets since his parents abandoned him, along with his year old sister _Naminé_, by the River Thames on his seventh birthday. Three years later, he had met Xion, who was younger than him by four months. _Xion_ had run away from her home, equipped with a slingshot, pebbles, and an impervious attitude. Six months after their meeting, they came across Sora and Tidus, nine and five respectively, filching stored food from Roxas's main hideout. After that incident they made a promise to each other. To keep one another alive and well, to try their best to improve things for them all, and to be friends for the remainder of their lives. That day they named themselves the Wanderers. It had been seven and a half years since then.

"Xion, are you sure about all of this? We can back out if you can't go through with it. Know that." Roxas didn't look at her, he looked at the English channels waves, watching the horizon as it bobbed up and down.

Xion grew tense beside Roxas, there wasn't a time or place where he didn't doubt her nerves, "Dear _Lady_... I have no qualms about anything we're to do. It bothers me not."

Roxas knew that Xion had strong morals, but her love for the other Wanderers surpassed that. Nevertheless, he knew that when they finished their deeds, she would give herself Hell. "I don't want to force you to do anything you don't want to..." Roxas adjusted the corset he was wearing slightly, there _were_ some moments he needed to breathe.

The short girl with the dark hair beside him sighed, "Here, let me..." Xion fixed about his dress, tucking in a fold there, pulling a trim there. She caressed the fine navy fabric as she fixed the thin sleeves, puffed up where the shoulders were, and reshaped the fabric over his bum. She then went on to fix his hat, a small navy one matching his dress trimmed with a lighter blue ribbon that did much for his eyes. He really looked the part of Victorian noblewoman.

"Thank you, Xion."

She nodded deeply. Xion knew that there couldn't be a slip up. They had to act perfectly, there were no slip ups allowed.

"Consider what I said, Xion. I'll still need my best friend afterwards, you know," Roxas turned to her and smiled widely, "you're the one that I can trust with them."

Xion nodded again, this time her expression grave. The Wanderers, the other children, they were to be in her care if anything were to happen to Roxas. He'd be tortured and hung for things he had done and had been planning to do.

_Let me assist you, Roxas..._

When they arrived and were quite settled in the Huntington's château, Roxas asked permission to use the horse and buggy. The requests were answered with little resistance, a bodyguard type-man almost had to tag along, but Roxas insisted to be left alone with Xion. Soon, they were traveling through the streets of Paris. When they passed a small cafe, they bade the driver to let them out, they wished to walk around for a while.

"Xion," Roxas whispered to her and they stepped out, "go find the Wanderers, tell them we're home. By the time you finish, I'll most likely be roaming. Change clothes and walk the rooftops, look for me. I'll whistle when I'm in need of you. Go."

She nodded and promised to meet back up with him later, sneaking away from the cafe silently. Xion knew that since Roxas was the oldest, since he (and Nami) were the foremost experienced with the streets and their people, they knew exactly what to do. One could listen to Roxas and stay alive. He was intelligent. Street smart. And he cared about the Wanderers, they were family. Xion felt the same way.

The 'servant' weaved through the Paris streets, keeping to herself while quickly heading towards the slums. Soon, she arrived, and it felt like home. Unconventional, of course, with the dilapidated buildings, trash filled roads, and homeless people lying in all places. Nevertheless, this had become a place of safety for them.

Xion ran towards the small warehouse that towered in the west side, tears streaming down her face. She slid through the back door and rushed up the stairs, looking for Sora's smiling face, Naminé's bright eyes, or even Tidus's goofy grin. "We're here, we're here, we're home!" Xion called out, pushing the 'bedroom' door open.

Naminé hopped up from a large pile of blankets, "Xion!" She cried out, dashing towards the older girl and throwing her arms around her waist, "We've missed you so much," Sora and Tidus came from the window, joining in on the embrace. "Where is my brother? Did he stay back in England?"

"No, he's here. He wishes very much to come and see you, Nami, but he has that image to keep..." Xion stroked her hair gently.

Sora laughed, "I guess we should call him Rox_anne_ now!"

The blond boy, Tidus, playfully punched him. "Leave him be! He's doing this for us, you know!" He tried to be serious but the laughter was contagious.

"Boys!" Xion yelled, chuckling with them, "We need to calm down, he wanted me to come here to inform you lot that we're safe and we're home!"

Naminé tugged on Xion's pale dress, "Will brother come and see me soon?"

Xion crouched down and kneeled, looking up at Naminé, "He adores you, Nami. Of course he'll come and see you. He's to come as soon as he possibly can."

The twelve year old smiled widely, "He'd better come!"

Sora ruffled Naminé's hair and looked to Tidus, who was trying to act indifferent, "Oh, come off it., you know you miss him too. We never do as well when he's gone."

TIdus huffed, "I don't miss 'im, because I know when he comes back we'll be living like kings!"

Xion spoke of the travels that she and Roxas went through. The royals and how they resided. Their homes. Her various suspicions about what exactly was Roxas's plan. How all that she knew was that she was too keep quiet and keep up the charade. She could not slip up. Before she knew it, hours had passed and the sun was setting.

She smiled at the rest of the Wanderers, "We'll come here as soon as we can. For now, I have to change my clothes and then I have to leave." She kissed Naminé's forehead, hugged Sora affectionately, and pecked both of Tidus's cheeks. "I'll see you within the week."

She headed to the clothing room down the hall and took off her dress, folding it neatly. She placed it in a satchel, and went on to look for different clothes. She grabbed Sora's black pantaloons, her own grey shirt, a black vest that was lying on the floor, and a dark coat to cover her from the chill that began to settle as the sun lowered. Xion pulled on a black pair of boots and tucked in the trousers. "All settled."

Xion opened the window and looked over the slums. She sighed, and stepped out onto the ledge, walking down it until she reached the connecting building. It was time to find Roxas. Surely, she was needed now.

**xxx**

They were hand in hand, running down the paved streets with only the moon illuminating their way. Roxas and Xion were determined to get back to the Huntington's château before they were seen by the people in the carriage.

"What's happened, Roxas?" Xion panted, increasing the pace of her footsteps.

Roxas cursed as he pulled up his dress, sprinting faster, "That _stupid_ inspector. His _idiotic _friend. I could have been done with it so _easily_!"

After a long while, they arrived at the château, dirty and sweaty. They sneaked inside, taking off their shoes so as to not make a sound. Up the stairs the duo went, treading down the halls and peering into each room, searching for one that seemed lavish enough for Lady Celeste Huntington. They reached one, with the bed turned down, ready for the Lady. The room connected to another by the westward wall, undoubtedly intended for Xion.

"...Celeste... Will you tell me what-"

He held his hand up to stop her from speaking, "Those are things we shall discuss later today. Help me out of this blasted gown, Xion."

Xion nodded and assisted Roxas with the dress, unfastening the buttons and pulling it down, exposing his bareback, scars lashed out all over. It wasn't the first time Xion saw his back, but every time, she would cringe inwardly. He never did explain what they were from. Her fingers tenderly stroking his spine, "You can tell me anything... Celeste..."

"Thank you, Xion, you can leave now. I have no need for your help. Retire to your quarters," Roxas hissed acidly, "I am quite tired. I shall see you in the morning."

**Author's Note: **Well, here's the next chapter~ I guess this sort of builds on Roxas's and Xion's side. I'm not too sure if there will ever be another with this POV, but I do want to explore their backgrounds.

Reviews would be lovely, they do encourage me to write quickly.

As usual, Kingdom Hearts belongs to Square Enix and Disney.


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